


Ties

by run_sure_footed



Series: Mod Froglets [8]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Friendship, Frog Discrimination, Off-screen death, Rites of Passage, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29406420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Kwat and Jamack receive their ties and become fully fledged Mod Frogs. Harris is kept from earning his own until Kwat and Jamack prove they still have his back.
Series: Mod Froglets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061339
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Ties

Harris could barely contain himself as he watched a group of other Frogs from his Year receive their ties.

It should have been because he was excited to get his own, but it wasn’t.

One of the final tests was to go on a mission with a fully fledged Mod Frog...but no one had taken him. It was made very clear that he hadn’t _failed_ (as they laughed behind their hands at him) but he wouldn’t be graduating with the rest of his class. Even though he’d kept up with them—out-performed them, even—in every other way.

He wanted to be happy for Jamack and Kwat, but he had to close his eyes while they got their ties. He stared directly at the others, seething with silent fury, fists clenched. He had to stand with the Froglets, towering over them. It was humiliating, and the fact that he knew it was _supposed_ to humiliate him only made it worse.

He hated it. He hated _everything_. He hated the upcoming Year of Froglets who had forced him out of the dormitory. He’d hated digging his own burrow. He hated _sleeping_ in the burrow. It felt like a tomb. At least in his bed in the dormitory there had been air and space and—as reluctant as he was to admit it—other Frogs around him. Not too close, except maybe Jamack sometimes, but _there_. He’d been able to see starlight and the moon through the windows.

His burrow was wet and muddy and cold no matter what he did. Keeping his suit—his tie-less suit—clean was a nightmare. It was close and suffocating and...lonely. The only good thing was that, because he was alone, he could sleep in his natural tucked-up position, only after so many years of fighting it even in his sleep, he spent half the night waking up to curl and uncurl.

He wasn’t the _last_ tie-less Frog in their Year, not yet, but he’d given up on hope. It was only a matter of time before all the others moved on without him.

*

Jamack had been swept up into Mod Frog life the second he got his tie. Everything was constantly moving and changing and he was so _busy_. He walked a fine line, showing confidence in his own actions, the attitude that a Mod Frog ought to have, but remaining respectful of the older Frogs.

He was drawn into patrols with two older Frogs, kept busy every day—not just with patrols but with all the grunt work they didn't want to do: cleaning and maintaining the car, doing paperwork, anything they could shunt off onto him. He took it without complaint. He knew that for a couple of years young Mod Frogs did the dirty work. They had to struggle and fight to be recognized even once they'd earned their ties, and he was going to _fight_.

He was also crushingly lonely, especially at night. The older Frogs were fine. They spoke to him easily, but they weren't the Frogs he'd grown up with. They couldn't be trusted. And at night... He was used to hearing other Froglets, being able to roll over and see Harris and Kwat not far away. His burrow was fine. He liked the quiet of it—until he didn't. He'd lined the walls and floor with moss, used to a slightly softer bed than just a dirt floor. It had helped, but he still didn't sleep well.

It was rare that he saw any Frogs from his year. He'd spotted Kwat a few times and they'd exchanged a wave, but he hadn't seen Harris where he expected him, not doing paperwork, not in the garage, not doing any of the patrol work. Jamack was used to seeing his entire Year during meals, but older Frogs had staggered meals for those on patrol.

He didn't see Harris for months, and when he finally did he completely forgot his dignity and practically ran to him. He kept his voice down, at least, but he was grinning. "Harris!" As Harris turned, his expression fell. Oh, no. Harris still didn't have his tie yet. It was getting to be late in the year already. If he didn't earn it by the end of the year he would be stuck at the Pond, not a Mod Frog, just a Pond Frog. For the rest of his life.

Harris grinned for just a split second before he caught hold of himself and his face went blank. His eyes were drawn to Jamack’s shiny new tie and his eyes narrowed, his expression turning sour. “Jamack,” he replied, as levelly as possible.

"Hey." Jamack was suddenly tongue-tied, something he had never really experienced before. He had so much to tell Harris, so many stories, but mostly he wanted to say how much he'd _missed_ him. "I—"

"Jamack!" One of his patrol team called his name and he turned, startled out of his stupor. "Get the car."

He was still barely used to not having to call older Mod Frogs 'sir' or ‘ma’am’ and he stumbled over his yes. He turned back to Harris.

Unable to speak, Harris just waved a hand for him to go before turning away.

Jamack left without a word, not sure what to say and without any time to figure it out.

Harris fled to his burrow, buried his head in what little moss he’d been able to scrounge up, and screamed. He tore at the walls and floor until his fingers were raw. He would have kept going until they bled, but he had just enough sense left to realize he couldn’t afford to have a visible, obvious injury.

Finally, exhausted and spent, he curled up and fell asleep.

During his patrol, Jamack asked the older Mod Frogs about his Year, and the graduation rate, and finally, casually, about Harris.

The majority of Mod Frogs had decided, silently, that he wasn't going to graduate. Harris wasn't going to get his tie.

Harris wasn't going to be a Mod Frog with him.

They had always been together. They had planned to work and patrol together once they were old enough to form their own group, them and Kwat. If Harris didn't become a Mod Frog, Jamack would see him only rarely, if at all.

That wasn't going to happen. Jamack was going to fix this and no one was going to stop him.

*

It was nearly two weeks later when Jamack's plan came to fruition. It had taken a lot of promises, some threats, two broken fingers (not his), many bribes and a couple of distractions, but he'd done it. It hadn’t been easy, but he had control of his own mission, he had Kwat with him, and no older Mod Frogs watching them. Now all he had to do was find Harris in the next five minutes before they had to leave. If they didn't leave quickly his distractions would have been for nothing and the entire plan would dissolve into failure.

Jamack finally spotted Harris running on one of the many obstacle courses. He didn't have time to wait for him to finish. He dropped to all fours and hopped to the edge of the course, threw himself onto one of the climbing walls and, using his tongue, flung himself to the top of it, cutting Harris off.

"We've got a job, come on," he said, not waiting for a reply before getting out of the course.

Harris had been so focused on his time, and what Jamack did was so unexpected, that Harris yelped, hitting the ground hard. He glared at Jamack’s retreating form.

Getting his tie couldn’t have changed Jamack _that_ much, could it? He wouldn’t be so cruel...would he?

Harris took a leap of faith and followed.

Jamack grinned over his shoulder at him, practically jogging to get to the car. Kwat already had it close to the entrance of the Pond, ready to go as soon as they arrived. Jamack hopped onto the top of the car, indicating for Harris to join him.

Well, he’d gone this far. No sense turning back now. Harris grinned back at Jamack while he hopped up beside him. The dragonfly started pulling the second he was in place, and he was glad for the sticky pads on his hands. Jamack, of course, had braced himself because he’d probably known what was coming.

“What are we doing?” Harris laughed as they sped off, together again. “And how much shit are we going to get in?” At this moment he didn’t care, but he knew that he should.

"We're going to run some humans off Mod Frog territory," Jamack said, as though this was just another mission and not Harris' _first_ mission. "I already grabbed your bat, it's in the backseat. And we're not going to get in any shit, we're just doing our job." He managed to conceal his glee.

“ _You’re_ doing _your_ job,” Harris pointed out. “What am _I_ doing?”

"Your job. You're earning your tie today."

Harris started laughing, then glanced at Jamack. “Wait. You’re serious.”

"Yeah," Jamack said with a smirk. "Why, didn't think they'd let me out alone so soon?" He was pretty sure if he made it sound like he was doing great, climbing the ranks, that Harris wouldn't figure out how hard he'd fought to get the privilege to take out a car with another young Mod Frog and a Frog who still hadn't earned his tie. It was a piece-of-junk car, but still!

“No,” Harris said frankly. “I didn’t. _I_ wouldn’t have.” But he couldn’t help grinning back at Jamack. He’d imagined this moment, the three of them out on their first solo mission, so many times, but he’d begun to despair that it would actually happen.

It was even more thrilling than he’d expected.

Jamack leaned over the side of the car to look at Kwat, who was sitting in the driver's seat.

She met his eyes and gave her hand a brief wave, an assurance. She knew where they were going.

Jamack had been in such a rush he'd basically thrown a file at her, told her to get the car, and run off to get Harris. He would owe her after this, but it was nice to know she still had his back, whether or not he promised her anything. Their bond had survived their graduation from Froglets to Frogs, and it was a huge relief.

Kwat pulled them over when they got to the block where a few humans had been spotted, camping in one of the crumbling buildings. Mod Frog patrols were meant to spot signs like that, but they rarely dealt with them immediately. They sent out a second team for that, psyched up and ready for a fight.

Jamack hopped off the car and Kwat got out.

Harris’ grin broadened. His bat was sitting in the backseat just as Jamack had promised. He picked it up and hefted it. The weight felt good in his hands. He didn’t care anymore if they’d get in trouble for this—it would be worth it.

He found himself looking to Jamack, as he often had as a Tadpole and Froglet, for direction.

Jamack didn't carry a weapon. For now he wanted to be unhampered, quick on his feet and ready to strike with his tongue. He knew that of the three of them he was the least likely to inflict terrible violence on someone. Kwat was a bruiser—her size and strength outmatched any other Mod Frog—and with her mace she was unstoppable. Harris was small and weighed almost nothing, but his fury was inexorable, and with his nail-studded bat, anyone in range was likely to be maimed. Jamack _knew_ he would make a remarkable Mod Frog. He just had to prove it to the Pond. Harris deserved this.

They hopped and crept through the buildings, stopping here and there to listen. As soon as they pinpointed the camp, Jamack posted Kwat at one entrance and signed for Harris to make his way to the only other way out of the building. He signalled them both with a loud croak.

Harris ran in with a vicious war-croak, bat swinging, mad red eyes shining. He saw Kwat roar in from the other side.

The humans looked up, startled, then they started shouting and grabbing whatever they could carry before trying to make it past the Frogs.

None of them made it out.

Jamack crowed with triumph as he looked over their cache, digging through it. Food, supplies, all kinds of good things! This was even better, a second kind of victory. He grinned up at Harris.

Harris grinned back, shaking blood off his bat. He helped the other two load up the rusted, dented car and then they all retreated to a small stream to rinse the blood out of their clothes before it dried.

Harris sprawled out on the roof of the car on the drive back, head pillowed on his hands, basking in the sun. He didn’t care if he was punished when they got back—this was worth it.


End file.
